Semua Bab Castillo Del Angel: Marked By Vengeance. : Bab 91 - Bab 100

Castle. I changed my number the night the club burned down.Because if this is what I thought it was, that would mean that the FBI already knew that Thomas was just the front of the club.And even if they didn't know that already, my name had been sprayed into the pavement and that would at least give them a clue. With enough digging, they would find out who I was and I needed to be prepared before they did.So I smashed my phone and destroyed my SIM card. I wasn't willing to risk the little I had left.I actually saw Angel's number saved on my phone before I smashed it to pieces. But I couldn't bring myself to call him or to even save the number. It was better for everyone if it got destroyed with the phone.Of course, it was like I was burning the final bridge that could have linked us together, but that was the point, wasn’t it? Make it easy for him to hate me. Make it easier for me to stay away.But it was really hard to stay away. Not when the only place I wanted to be was besid

Castle.I should’ve walked away. As soon as I entered and saw that Angel had brought a date, I should have left. But I didn’t.I stood there in the shadows of the room, leaning against the wall, hidden by a curtain, and I watched him. I watched them.Angel looked good, he always did, even though he looked pale. I couldn't stop myself from debating if I was the cause, or if he was having sleepless nights due to his investigations.Well even though he looked pale, he still looked beautiful. Too beautiful to be sitting beside another man.I stayed in the shadows, tucked behind one of the curtained alcoves, and watched them at their little table. The four of them. Laughing like they were happy. Eating like they had nothing to hide. The man beside Angel—Lucas, I’d heard Darcy call him—leaned in every so often, too close, eyes locked on Angel like he wanted him.It made me sick.There was a brief moment where Angel reached out and wiped something off the corner of Lucas’s mouth. A drop of

Castle.The question lodged in my throat like broken glass.“Is it the mafia?”I froze.For a moment, I thought I misheard him. I wanted to believe I did. But Angel was staring at me—sharp, breathless, deadly calm. Like he’d already put the pieces together and just wanted to see if I’d open up to him.I could’ve said yes. I could’ve said no. I could’ve told him that the truth is somewhere between justice and madness—that I’m not who he thinks I am, not who anyone thinks I am. But that would’ve meant unraveling everything. And I couldn’t do that. Not yet. Not with what was at stake.So I did the one thing I’ve always done when the walls started closing in. I turned to run.It was pathetic really. I took a slow pivot around the car, an awkward step that was barely a step before he caught my wrist and slammed me against the hood.The metal kissed my back with a jolt of cold, but his grip burned.“I’m tired, Castle,” Angel growled, eyes bright with the edge of something dangerous. “I’m

Castle.“It's meant to make you hate me harder.” I said it like a joke. But it really wasn’t.Because somewhere beneath my skin, under the guilt and the grief and all the things I never got the chance to say, was a part of me that wanted to go under. And drag him down with me.If I was going to lose him, I wanted to lose him like this. With my blood in his mouth. With his breath on my throat. With his eyes looking at me like I was already a memory.He stared at me, jaw tight, chest rising and falling like he’d just finished running for his life. Maybe he had. Maybe I was the thing chasing him.And then he dropped to his knees and my breath caught.The sound of my belt unbuckling echoed through the silence. His fingers were quick. Precise. Angry, even. He yanked my pants down like they’d personally offended him, pulling my shoes off along with them, leaving me in nothing but the briefs that were already soaked with want and precum.He looked up at me through those lashes, and then he

Castle. He pulled out slow and deliberate, like he wanted me to feel the loss of him and the emptiness that followed. And fuck, I did. It gutted me. His warmth, his weight, the pulse of him deep inside—I felt it vanish and I clenched, instinctively, like my body thought it could keep him somehow. But that was just wishful thinking. I stayed on the bed without moving. I didn't want to move yet. My chest was pressed to the mattress, my skin damp with sweat and spit and tears I hadn’t realized had slipped down. The room still smelled like sex—raw, feral, devastating. And still I didn’t move. Maybe if I stayed here, he would change his mind. Maybe he would come back and lie down beside me. Maybe he would wrap his arms around me like I wanted him to. But then his voice broke the silence, and the words he spoke hit me, as if someone had stabbed me in the guts with a jagged knife. “It’s done,” he said flatly. “The earlier you leave, the better it will be for the both of us.” He didn